Once upon a time, there lived a brilliant young(ish) neuroscientist and former bartender named Dr. Becca. Dr Becca lived in a decrepit old building in a small, cold hamlet called NJC. There was a dumpster outside her living room window.
But despite her sub-par living conditions, Dr Becca was generally a happy person, because she loved being a neuroscientist. She loved designing experiments and training future neuroscientists, and even teaching undergrads a little bit. One of the most important parts of her job, however, was to convince some HIGHLY INTELLIGENT and EXTREMELY GOOD-LOOKING, NOT TO MENTION WORLD-RENOWNED scientists to tell the government to give her money so that she could continue to be a neuroscientist. So she thought and she thought and she leaned back in her purportedly ergonomic desk chair that still managed to give her a mild case of sciatica until she had an idea.
And this idea--well, it was a pretty great idea. The work that Dr Becca so eloquently proposed to do, and that she illustrated so well in clearly-labeled color figures, would open up a whole new line of research that could continue for decades. Moreover, it had clear clinical relevance, in that it could help treat an underserved population that increasingly suffers from an exceptionally topical illness. It was, you might say, a perfect proposal with respect to the goals set forth in the RFA.
Dr Becca sent her great idea through a series of tubes to the DC Metro area, where the idea sat for nearly five and a half months. In the interim, Dr Becca attended several scientific meetings, got married, hired a post-doctoral fellow, created a new course for the undergrads at her university, wrote a review article, went on a honeymoon to Europe, had said review article get accepted, and watched her first grad student kick ass presenting his Masters' thesis.
And then finally, just 4 days before Dr Becca's [redacted] birthday, the INDIMIDATINGLY BRILLIANT and SERIOUSLY ATTRACTIVE scientists met to talk about Dr Becca's idea, as well as a few others. And on that day, the EMINENT, WISE, and EFFORTLESSLY STYLISH scientists agreed that it was essentially an objective truth that Dr Becca's idea was the best in the group, and they gave her a priority score and corresponding percentile that was in no uncertain terms well below payline for her IC.
Several months later, Dr Becca's institution gladly accepted the award on her behalf, and Dr Becca went on to continue her career as a paradigm-shifting but remarkably modest neuroscientist until the world was rid of mental illness. And as for the NOBEL-DESERVING, DORIAN GRAY-YOUTHFULNESS LEVEL scientists that made it all happen? Well, they all lived long, luxurious lives, devoid of health problems until they died peacefully in their sleep with their loved ones by their side, and several buildings erected in their name at their respective alma maters.
Sweet dreams, you sexy beasts of study section. Please be kind tomorrow.